


it’s alright to be mad

by uhohcanteen



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Oneshot, Reflection, Sad TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Self projection, Toby Smith | Tubbo and TommyInnit Run Away, TommyInnit Angst (Video Blogging RPF), idk what it is it just happens to me sometimes and it makes me panic, questioning alliance, questioning of sanity, references to wilbur arg, sensory overload???, so uh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:34:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27601463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uhohcanteen/pseuds/uhohcanteen
Summary: au where nov 16th war doesn’t happen, and tommy and tubbo run away before.now, they’re miles away, and tommy can’t help but wonder if he was any better than them.(title from wrath by sir chloe, but mad isn’t in the same sense in the song as this :3c)
Relationships: Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Kudos: 165





	it’s alright to be mad

**Author's Note:**

> none of this is shipping, just so you know :]

Tommy gazed up at the sky, eyes heavy with no sleep, yet his mind raced everfast. The ambience of tree leaves rustling in the chilly fall air did nothing to ward off the ringing in his ears, the absence of sound was sure to drive him mad eventually.

Mad like Schlatt, power hungry and diamond driven. A friend lost to time and endless trials that tested his mental security. His wild chuckles at an amusing bit gave way to gut-wrenching, maniacal cackles as Tubbo shook and pleaded for mercy that wouldn’t come, eyes wide in fear and disbelief and- _what had they done wrong?_ He had paused then, at Schlatt’s teeth bared in a crazed grin, at his jerky laughs, and it was like he was rabid, like he himself was a feral dog, like something in him had finally snapped and let loose a violent wave of powerful malevolence in its wake.

Mad like Wilbur, cheeks smudged with charcoal and soot and fingers stained brown with dirt after a trek he had taken that he refused to confide with Tommy about, but who already had idea enough. He remembered thinking then that surely what he had seen then was just a one-off glimpse of a more unhinged mindset, not a whole new person, not this. This Wilbur, with an old blouse from his old self, bought for a lighthearted concert he put on his friends and his little family, and the grin he had worn proudly then, that warmed the audience’s hearts, was now replaced with a sneer, and the fabric now stained with what Tommy had blindly hoped was dirt (but time at war had told him an unwanted answer that he ignored) but he knew _dirt wasn’t that red_ , and when he asked Wilbur about it he had to suppress the urge to flinch away from the lost man before him and the hand jerkily placed onto his shoulder. He didn’t pay much attention to what the stranger said, head filled with the acceptance that he didn’t need details from him anymore.

Mad like Technoblade, whose monotonous jokes and extensive farms and bountiful knowledge that used to make the stone cold ravine just a little warmer had turned to mindful ignorance and purposeful absence and quotes that soothed no one’s frantic and distressed mind. He no longer would accompany Tommy to find gems to help them in a fight meant to restore a nation, no longer keeping up the overgrown potato fields, instead building himself a bunker in an undisclosed location and gaining materials and resources and preparing the best of the best of animals, released and abandoned race horses found scattered across the land of outlaws, and Techno’s dismissive ‘ _don’t worry about it_ ’ had struck Tommy’s heart with fear, because it was like there was something big that Techno wasn’t telling him about, because it was like Techno was preparing for more than just a simple presidential assassination, because it was like Techno was preparing to _run_.

Mad like Dream, his green jacket coated in gunpowder, dust, and debris, all but lost in the cloud of destruction if not for the stark white of his mask and its dangerous connotations. The smile that had once promised Tommy his freedom for a price, and then security for seemingly nothing at all, a change of heart, that he would redeem himself, and then- interference. It was then that Tommy had realized that there were no sides here, proven by Dream’s audible sneer, ‘ _I was never_ on _your side, Tommy_ ,’ that there was no moral code instilled in anyone, that his best hopes were to get the hell out of dodge before the next animal was slaughtered for nothing besides a sick thrill, before the next sentimental item was stolen for reason no more than a passion for unnecessary bloodshed and need for constant conflict.

The trust that Tommy had hesitantly yet blindly given, just for it to get handed away without a second thought along with the dynamite passed with the intention to destroy his _damned home_ , and-

Maybe Tommy was mad, too, for who in their right damned mind would do nothing at all? He helped no one, just sitting about, floundering in the disaster of his own creation, his own hell that he had made with his own fair hands, through the course of months, and years, and he was 11, a kid despite his insistence that he was a bigger man than anyone there, and he put unwavering faith in this land that he loved, the people who tolerated him because he was just Wilbur’s kid brother, despite Tommy being there first, and what Wilbur says goes, because he’s their general, and then their president, and he was powerful, and he was good, because surely Dream was out of his mind to want to fight to recover land that was rightfully his, and Wilbur was older, older than all of them, and he was home. Through the wind and the rain and the snow, Tommy forged relationships based off of a brother who would sometimes stare a little too hard, with a mouth set a little too tight, and was always a little too overdressed, like he was cold even in the summer, like he couldn’t get warm.

Maybe Wilbur was a little strange, but damn if he didn’t lure in people with his effortless and enchanting charm, and maybe Tommy was Icarus, for he should’ve known a light so bright was dangerous, and Tommy wasn’t a damned _moth-_ he knew that too much light was good for no one, but he was a kid, and Wilbur was his brother, and the two were inseparable, weren’t they?

Wilbur was his partner in crime, the two a mischievous pair up to no good at all, and it was a dynamic that Tommy thought everyone should enjoy, and he had decided then that this was who he wanted to become, and Technoblade and his burning ambition and unrelenting fury and driving force was what Tommy wanted to be the most, the pig-masked man being his idol for years. Schlatt’s uncaringness for what most considered to matter and his effortless humor and his ability to make everyone laugh was what Tommy made his life goal around. He loved these people, they were who he had placed all of his faith in, but now that these parts of him were lost, lost like his sense of hope, lost like their pasts, lost like his family.

Surely Tommy was mad for missing their presences after their betrayals of everything Tommy had thought they stood for. He must be mad for still loving the bastards, craving their praise and imagining their pride in his head, only ever in his head. He was mad for still caring for a nation that was born and lost to conflict.

Tommy didn’t know who to trust anymore, and maybe that made him mad, too.

Schlatt was gone.

Wilbur was off his rocker.

Techno was dead set on destruction.

Dream should’ve never been relied on in the first fucking place.

Quackity worked for Schlatt; there was no surmissible way that he would stop being Schlatt’s vice, just like that.

Punz listened to no one; he did what he needed to survive. His alliances, if any, would become null as soon as he stepped onto the battlefield.

Ponk wasn’t to be trusted. His money laundering disguised as selling ‘essential oils’ could prove to sink the already struggling nation, and Tommy had heard from Sam during a mining expedition that Ponk had tried to rope both Sam and Fundy into pledging allegiance to Schlatt over a trade for an enhancement for boots.

Then again, was Sam to be trusted either? He had been getting awfully stacked for a man with no stated allegiances.

Sapnap and George were both agents of chaos, causing nothing but issues when they were present, and when they weren’t, it was likely that they were passed out somewhere.

Purpled was never there, either. Tommy wasn’t sure where he had gone off to, but a tiny part of his mind wished he could go wherever Purpled was, as long as it was far from Pogtopia or Manberg.

Niki and Fundy, while they seemed relatively promising, with their accomplishments and oaths to save their home, but Tommy was sure that they would side with Wilbur once push came to shove; their bonds with him were too strong to neglect in this situation.

(Tommy had convinced himself before that his bond with Wilbur had at one point been arguably stronger than that of the others, but he couldn’t help but feel it was one sided.)

Eret… well, did Tommy have to explain it?

No.

Because he was monologuing. To himself. In his head, like a fucking lunatic. Except, would even a lunatic be in a situation like this? Would a mad man have to question his loyalties or who to trust? Wouldn’t they leave, off on their own little tirade of distrust and impulsiveness.

Perhaps Tommy was past madness, then, descended past any point of return, all promises of the sanctity of sanity miles behind him, the abandoned ideal cozied right up next to the prospect of tranquility in this neverending hell of an SMP. In this terrible land, where he couldn’t even figure out if his own best friend was someone he could turn his back to without fear of it being stabbed at the first sign of conflict.

Probably not. Tubbo worked for Schlatt, too. Sure, he was a double agent, but there was no guarantee of complete loyalty, and he knew this because Wilbur…

Wilbur told him.

And Wilbur couldn’t be right, could he? Wilbur was the villain, wasn’t he? He was the big bad, he was the one ready to destroy a nation that was already…

Manberg was already obsolete. It was tarnished beyond repair, even the fondest memories tainted by the newfound dread associated with the locations, from when Tommy would sneak by and fear repercussion upon being found, of the idea that Tubbo would have to face the consequences, would have to pay for Tommy’s own neglect of vigilance, of his arrogance and irresponsibility.

So if this was true, then why was Tubbo still at Tommy’s side? Tubbo had already almost paid the final price at the festival, yet here they were now, millions of blocks away from Manberg, from Pogtopia, from Eret’s reign over the surrounding land, from the Badlands, and here Tubbo was, asleep in a small hut he had pitched in haste, and Tommy couldn’t even be there to protect his best friend, because he was too busy wallowing in his own despair, out sitting by the naturally formed pond.

Here, cattails danced and bobbed in the chilly wind, a far fetch from the sugar cane that naturally grew and was farmed, and the faint buzz Tommy heard was not from redstone wiring, but instead from katydids and the straggling bee out long after it’s fellow workers, and it was all so different in comparison to what he knew back h- back with the people of the past.

Because this wasn’t the past, and Tommy had to make an effort to remember this often in the several weeks since he and Tubbo had begun their trek here. No one had found them yet, and Tommy was determined for it to stay this way. For the time being, until an ugly remnant of their past would potentially spring up, decked out in netherite armor and bearing a flaming sword like they were each one of God’s most revered angels, it was just Tommy and Tubbo, people of the present pining for a future where they were liberated from the persistence of war and the corruption that came with powerful positions.

_They were kids_ , Tommy thought then, wistfully, heart twanging to think of the constant fear that Tubbo must have been in, in a nation where he was expected to be the President’s right hand man, alongside a spy for both sides, where he could never be sure who to trust, who would stick by his side when the time became right. Tommy’s eyes were mercifully dry as he recounted the way Tubbo had succumbed to what surely would’ve been a gruesome fate, where he would be blasted into a concrete wall by who he had been sure was an ally who wouldn’t hurt him with his loaded and readied fucking _rocket launcher_.

Tommy remembered his heavy puffs of breath as he tugged his best (and only) friend out past the fence just in the nick of time, bright and colorful and deadly sparks flying in their absence. Tommy had thrown the boy an ender pearl then, both of their minds still trying to catch up to what happened as they aimed for Pogtopia. They had sat atop of an old oak tree by the entrance of the ravine, catching their breath as quietly as they could.

That was weeks ago, and yet Tommy found himself in a similar state, breaths becoming shallow as his mind dared to imagine what would’ve happened had he not gotten there in time. Sure, Tubbo would return, but the trauma and gore would require a whole lot of help and maintenance, and he knew he was glad it hadn’t really been an event, but the image of his best friend, slammed back into of the confines in the small concrete cell he was trapped in with blood splattered and burned skin, was burned into Tommy’s mind.

Whether his eyes were closed or shut, sometimes it was all that he could see. It could take a while to ground himself afterwards, he found, and it certainly applied now as he dug his fingers into the soil beside him, blunt fingernails filling with dirt uncomfortably and palms tickling infuriatingly with blades of grass. He dug more, earth pressing into his nails further and proving to hold no stimulation, but he continued on, trying to find anything that could help, a shard of glass left from a witch long gone, or maybe an abandoned axe, or a sliver of thinly layered shale to crumble between his calloused palms. Tommy furiously clawed through stringy roots and clumps of dirt as the white noise of the trees rustling and the cattails waving bombarded his ears, the whistling of the wind through the burly birch branches bombarding his ears, and it turned into the distinct sharp whining that drove him mad, and he tried to focus further on his impromptu excavation site.

Finally, his frigid fingers found purchase from their burrowed position in the ground; a small rock, perhaps the size of a bottle cap, was dug out in a lackadaisical manner that contrasted with the relieved glint in his eyes. His digits ran over the surface of the smooth stone, and his hyper awareness in the moment aided to ground him as they slid over the porous exterior, little divots providing unlikely solace. His calves were chilly as he gazed up at the sky once more, thumbing the pebble still as he paid attention to the sky.

The waning moon before Tommy glowed dimly from above, her own craters overwhelmed by the sun's magnificent light, and he found himself searching for them as he respectively fumbled with the rock in his hands. Here, he was free from the light pollution of the cities in the SMP, stars brighter and seemingly more new, as opposed to the sight of a clouded sky with an unintelligible constellation with stars that had faded with age.

Here, he lay, calming slowly, as Tubbo slid into the chilled grass next to him.

“Tommy?” Tubbo said softly, and Tommy looked to his best friend slowly, energy strangely sapped, and sluggishly met his line of sight. “Why’re you out here, man?” Tommy rested his eyes lazily, mumbling uncharacteristically, “Jus’ couldn’t sleep, I s'pose.” He exhaled out of his nose softly, waiting for a following statement or question that didn’t come.

After moments of comfortable silence, Tommy said, “You can go back in, to bed, any time. Don’t think you need to be out here.” Tubbo smiled slightly, comfortingly, cheeks chilly and bitten red from the wind picking up its pace. “I’m out here for you, man. I’ll come in when you’re ready to come with.”

Tommy tried to convince himself the stinging at his eyes was from the biting chill, but they both knew better. His breaths rattled for a little longer, occasionally swiping particularly roughly at the pebble when he felt a little too stationary.

Tubbo looked to him as Tommy stood, shoulders popping as he stretched languidly, mouth open in a silent yawn, and stood too, using his hand on a shaky arm as his legs struggled to get up immediately. His knees cracked a little, and the two snickered for a moment before heading into their little hut.

It wasn’t home yet, but it could be soon; Tubbo kept Tommy a little more sane. They were never more appreciative of each other in this moment onwards.

**Author's Note:**

> do i have a mental illness. maybe..
> 
> anyways yea this was! not intended to be as long as it is! hope if youre reading this you find your tubbo to your tommy or vice versa; you deserve to have someone to be your rock! 
> 
> ive had this in the drafts for a hot minute LOL i think i need to see a psychiatrist


End file.
